


No Matter What Route Home We Take

by satin_doll



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Fluffyish Angst?, Sherlolly - Freeform, mollock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-12
Updated: 2016-04-12
Packaged: 2018-06-01 20:27:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6535126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/satin_doll/pseuds/satin_doll
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the Five Minute Exile and the drugs, Sherlock has to face Molly Hooper.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Matter What Route Home We Take

**Author's Note:**

> I own nothing, all mistakes are mine. 
> 
> Inspired by Barbara Hambly, who really does understand.

 

He enters the lab quietly, refuses to look at her. She's aware of what's happened. In his heart, her soft eyes, her silence as he enters, are an accusation, a judgement. She watches him as he begins to work, keeps her distance. He is tired of the anger, the confusion, the questions, the indignation - the fear - that he's had to endure this past week. In spite of the results, there is no forgiveness to be had. He is tired of fighting his own shame and anger over what he's done. It was necessary. That's all he can say in his defense, but it's not enough. It will never be enough. So he pulls into his shell, goes about his business. 

He feels it when she leaves, her absence like a chill creeping over him. It doesn't matter. He is still for a long while, staring at nothing. He is hardly aware of leaving.

The flat offers nothing. He paces from room to room. The anger and frustration bubble just beneath the surface. He thinks about her watching him in the lab, her silence, and the hurt rises, bleeds into the anger, feels like lava seeping from his pores. He had expected rage, harsh words. The softness of her eyes was far worse. It made him furious. By the time she arrives at Baker Street, he is stone. 

The flat is dark. He is a darker silhouette by the window. She enters slowly, stands and watches him, waiting. She has been quiet coming up the stairs but not silent. He knows she is there. 

"Why are you here?"

The question hangs in the cool dim air between them, like a veil, a gauzy and impenetrable barrier. 

"I...didn't want you to be alone."

He returns to his wordless observing of the scene outside the window. The streets are quiet this time of night; an occasional car passing noiselessly casts a slight illumination on his face.

She takes off her coat, tosses it over the back of a chair, the one everyone still calls "John's chair" though he's not been in it for a long while now.

"Is there anything...can I get you anything...?"

He turns at this, sharply, stiffly.

"Why are you here?" he repeats, and his voice is tight, rough with emotion. "I don't need you. I don't want you. Go away." 

He turns back to the window.

"I don't think that's true." 

She surprises herself with that declaration. It makes her bold and she takes a few steps toward him.

"Even if you don't...need...or want...me, I'm still here and..." She stops, swallows, blinks hard. "I'm not going anywhere."

He turns toward her and even in the darkness she can tell he is shaking. He crosses the room in three long strides, grabs her by the shoulders, shakes her hard. 

"What do you want from me!" His voice is like thunder in the dark and she closes her eyes, turns her head away. 

"N-nothing," she stammers. "Nothing."

He shakes her again. 

"You know what I am. You know what I've done. That's not going to change!"

She nods, whispers, "I know, I know. It doesn't matter."

He shoves her away, gives a short bitter laugh. 

"Of course it matters. I can't be what you want me to be, Molly. You know that. I've proven it to you over and over. But here you are again. Back for more punishment. One would think you enjoy being hurt and humiliated." His eyes narrow. "Is that it? You enjoy it?"

He grabs her shoulders again, fingers digging into her flesh. He grins at her, like a wolf that's spotted prey.

"I can hurt you, if that's what you want." Voice a low growl, he steps closer, almost but not quite pressing himself against her. "Do you want me to?"

Hands slide down her arms to her wrists, twisting them behind her. He holds them tight. There will be marks and bruises tomorrow. He doesn't care.

He pulls her roughly against him, bends his head and catches her mouth. The kiss is hard, brutal. He holds her wrists with one hand, moves the other to grab her hair in his fist, forcing her head back as he plunders her mouth with his tongue. 

She is still, passive, not struggling. He breaks the kiss, whispers harshly, "Is this what you want? Little Molly, sweet Molly, this is what you've wanted all along isn't it? Isn't it!"

There's no answer and he pushes her away, turns his back, runs his hands through his hair. 

"Sherlock..." Her voice is quiet, but firm. There are no tears, no quivering lips, though her eyes are too bright with unshed tears.

"I know what you're doing. It won't work." Her voice is oddly calm, steady.

He laughs. "No getting rid of you, is there?" 

He walks to his chair, throws himself into it, drops his head back on the cushion. 

He's not going to drive her away. Not this time. She takes a deep breath, goes to him, kneels in front of the chair. 

"Sherlock, listen to me." Another deep breath. "It's taken me a long time to...understand...this. What's been going on all this time. I don't care what you are, what you've done. This is...it's my choice. Do you understand? My choice. It has been all along. I could have chosen any time to walk away, to...not put up with, with how you've been with me. Any time. But I never did. I kept choosing...you." She pauses, raises her hand to touch him, decides it isn't time yet. "I choose you. It could have made me miserable. Sometimes it did. But not enough to stay away. Not enough to leave. I know people who stay with ones who...hurt them. Are not nice to them. They rage and cry, are angry all the time. But they're not angry with the people who are hurting them. They're angry with...themselves. And you know why? Because they hate themselves for the choices they've made. They believe they've chosen wrong and they hate it."

She stops. Waits for a reaction. He is silent, unmoving. Another deep breath.

"Sherlock, I don't hate myself for my choices. I don't hate myself for choosing you. I know what you are, what you've done. It doesn't matter. None of it matters. I'm here because I love you, it's that simple. I've always loved you. I always will. Good or bad, I love you. All of you. And I believe that...even if it sometimes doesn't seem that way, I believe you always try...always...to do the right thing. Nothing you can say or do will ever change that."

She waits again, finished with what she's come to say.

There is a long silence. After a while, he shifts slightly in the chair, raises his head. She can barely make him out in the dimness. 

He takes a breath. When it comes, it is soft, gentle.

"I don't believe I've ever heard you say so much at one time." 

She laughs, a short breathy sound.

He stirs, leans forward. His hands are warm against her cheeks as he tilts her face up. He rests his forehead against hers. She covers his hands with hers, closes her eyes.

"I'm a beast, Molly Hooper."

She smiles, moves her fingers over his hands. "I know."

He pulls her up against him, presses his face into her hair, murmurs, "What am I going to do with you?"

She shakes her head, slides her arms around him, smiles against his chest. 

"Just love me."


End file.
